Bleach OneShots
by Silawen
Summary: My ever-growing collection of Bleach one-shots. Written for communities, challenges, or simply my own enjoyment. Includes both het and slash pairings, plenty of characters, and ranges from G to a possible R. All are a thousand words or less.
1. Falling

**Title:** Falling.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairings/Characters:** Kyouraku Shunsui/Ise Nanao  
**Warnings:** **spoilers** Spoilers for the last couple of episodes before the fillers, though if you haven't seen them you probably won't recognize much.  
**Word Count:** Exactly 300 words.  
**Summary:** _She can feel them in her bones. Far away, struggling to save the world she so enjoys, they fight for survival._  
**A/N:** Written for **bleach_contest** and crossposted to various communities.

* * *

**Falling.**

His heart is racing as comrades fall. All around him reiatsu thunders through the air, building and crushing and biting. He feels its pull, constantly tormenting him because he knows friends lie broken on the ground. A jump, a burst of energy, and he soars high above them. His zanpakutou surge, like they're asking for release. He can only give them more pain.

A deep longing inside him, to keep soaring above it all and pretend it's not real, but a bright flash of energy in front of him pulls him out of the thought. Blood soaks.

~

She can feel them in her bones. Far away, struggling to save the world she so enjoys, they fight for survival. Every time she inhales, a pain hits her. With every breath, more of them crush to the earth. Helpless, she is, like a bird caged. Her zanpakutou weeps, much like she does, as they huddle together until the end. They're the last line of defense, but she isn't sure fighting back would be worth it if everyone else is dead.

Standing tall, not relenting even under the constant barrage of worry. They'll be alright. He said they would be. A woman, so tiny as she stands on the roof, yet a little girl remembering that first evening.

_Nanao-chan._

Lips tremble, but she stands strong. She waits and believes, because she wants to share one more night. Should they make it, that little girl will have grown.

~

The ground is cold beneath him and he can smell the bitterness of blood. His zanpakutou rest on the ground beside him, tremors rippling through the dirt as they call for him. In the back of his mind something – someone – else calls for him too and he makes to stand.

_Taichou!_

He fights on.


	2. Miracle

**Title:** Miracle.  
**Author:** **silawen**/lalaith86  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Zaraki Kenpachi and Kusajishi Yachiru.  
**Word Count:** 300 words exactly.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach. Wish I did, but I have yet to find a magic lamp and my very own genie.  
**Summary:** _From the awed glances of his underlings to the scrutinizing stares of his peers, they all seemed to challenge him to do better. To _be_ better. _

**Author's Note:** Based on the fact that 'wonder' means 'miracle' in Dutch. ^^

* * *

**Miracle.**

The evening felt cool against his skin as he rested against a lonely tree, zanpakutou leaning into his shoulder as a constant reminder of his life. The dents in his blade – uneven, cut, much like him – vibrated with undiluted reitasu, roaring at him, but he couldn't make out the words. He doubted he ever would. The art of words, spoken from a zanpakutou's soul, was far beyond him. An animal knows only sound.

The wind, murmuring in his ear alongside the heavy drum of his own reiatsu, whipped through the branches above him, tugging at the bells on his head. The light clash of metal was another sound added to the ongoing symphony. To him it had no meaning. Just empty sound.

Ever since he'd joined the Gotei 13 – better yet, brutally forced his way in – he'd been expected to fit in, but he'd given up on that. They would keep him chained, tied to morals and rules he didn't stand behind, so he stayed one step ahead. Life was too precious to hold back.

From the awed glances of his underlings to the scrutinizing stares of his peers, they all seemed to challenge him to do better. To _be_ better.

As his eyes drifted to the blood on the ground – dripping and seeping, clawing at the dirt in grotesque patterns – he wondered why they thought he could be anything more. It was like hoping for a miracle, but lacked the magician's hands. His killed, they didn't weave magic or inspire the uninspired. They ended, never began.

He realized, though, that he did have a meaning. As small hands dug into his shoulder – not unlike the sword in his hands – he could feel the miniscule quiver in his chest. A trembling of the soul.

She was his little miracle.


	3. Existence

**Title:** Existence.  
**Author:** **silawen**/lalaith86  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Kurotsuchi Nemu, mentions of Kurotsuchi Mayuri and Ishida Uryuu.  
**Word Count:** 648  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach. Besides, owning Mayuri would be very creepy.  
**Summary:** _She thinks she loves him, though she can't be sure. His company both soothes and terrifies her, like thunder and lightning crashing down on a cool winter's night._

**Author's Note:** I enjoy writing both of them way too much. Not sure this makes any sense, but...yeah.

* * *

**Existence.**

She does nothing. It's not going to stop, for she is an ant and he is a giant, but she never even tries. Her brain is like a typewriter, waiting for fingers to hit the right keys. The longer it drags on, the older she feels, and the ink splashes on pages that should have remained bare. All around her people grow, leaving her in an antiqued world of words and numbers that no one cares about. She isn't sure if she's even supposed to feel, but the whisper of gratitude, or regret – when she lies on a bed, eyes wide open, and pretends to sleep – still brings a smile to her lips. A smile she deems foreign, because she hardly ever feels the calming stroke of joy.

She thinks she loves him, though she can't be sure. His company both soothes and terrifies her, like thunder and lightning crashing down on a cool winter's night. The yellow of his eyes sparks with passion, a lust for all things new and interesting, and she envies him for it. When he sits in a barely lit room and watches numbers soar down the screen, she watches in what must be fascination, because his thirst for knowledge shines through every touch of his hand on the keys.

In the years of her existence she has learned how Soul Society works. Faster than most, she learned the intricacies of command and the nuances of rank or nobility. Her brain – fast, sharp, designed by the sharpest mind she knows – deduces things easily. _Taichou_, is her response to those that require it. _Fukutaichou_, to those by her side. And above all, higher than even the captain-commander himself, he stands. Illuminated by the purple haze of Ashisogi Jizō – screaming at her whenever she turns her head, maybe out of jealousy, she doesn't know – he gazes down at her with quiet confidence and a wicked smile. _Mayuri-sama_.

"Nemu," he sometimes calls, occupied with a prized specimen he's dumped on his operating table. "Nemu, hurry and fetch me a saw."

He gives her purpose.

Many have asked why she puts up with him. She's seen the angry glances, heard the warning in their voices, felt the waver of reiatsu as he strikes her. Their emotion, something she envies them, sometimes turns them against the rules Soul Society is built on. She knows they'd fight for her, against every protocol ever devised, and she'd kill them for it. Her loyalty is to him alone. She would break Seireitei down, bare hands digging against stone as nails broke and fingers snapped, if he told her to.

They never understand.

Even that Quincy, whose brain seems so like hers, could not fathom it. She still remembers the ire in his voice as he demanded her father to stop. Like he needed to. She knows the Quincy is a fool.

As she sits, green eyes watching her reflection in the mirror, she wonders why they can't see. Their logic is flawed, their words out of place. Through their haste to judge – a human error, Mayuri-sama often says, one he has perfected – they cannot see past the things they lack.

He's given her life.

With every step, every word, and every human action of her make-shift soul, she represents his greatness and love for knowledge. She inhales, a vision of calculated brilliance. His face both frightens and warms her cold, inhuman heart. Without him, the image of birds on a branch, or the vivid painting of a sunrise against the sky, would not have existed.

He spurs her every action. His words bring forth every reaction. She _exists_ because of him. And no matter what he says – words biting at bits of her that feel human - or how his zanpakutou cuts her skin, the mere fact that she breathes for him causes that fleeting touch of gratitude.

She lives.


	4. Plain And Unassuming

**Title:** Plain And Unassuming.  
**Author:** **silawen** (Sila)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Onesided Nanao Ise/Kurotsuchi Mayuri.  
**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Bleach. I swear.  
**Summary:** Nanao should know better.

* * *

**Plain And Unassuming.**

Ise Nanao knows better. She is a smart woman – smarter, surely, than many a shinigami around – and she knows better. As a vice-captain, she's seen enough to know when to give up on something. Giving up on her strange fascination with a morbid brain – so morbid it sometimes sends shivers down her back – sounds like the right, no, _sensible_, thing to do. And yet she's sitting here, considering standing up and saying something when she knows she shouldn't, about ready to indulge her curiosity.

Not far from her, barking orders to his vice-captain, Kurotsuchi Mayuri is busy sparking fear in whoever walks past him. He doesn't seem to notice the wide birth he's being given, or maybe he doesn't care, but she does. She sees the hesitance in people's eyes, the swell of doubt about even walking past him. They fear him, like they fear no other in Soul Society. They'd rather face a quick death at Zaraki Kenpachi's sword than deal with the painful result of Mayuri's meddling.

They fear him, but she finds him fascinating. It defies all logic, but her analytical brain constantly tries to figure him out. No man is born the way he is. No man comes into Soul Society the way he has, with a mind so very brilliant, but also utterly terrifying. No, a man _becomes_ the way Kurotsuchi Mayuri is, and she wants to understand why.

Some of the 12th Division's members are running around, setting something up in the courtyard where she's been sitting. Trampling delicate flowers under their feet – they may appreciate beauty, but prefer the beauty of cold metal over dirt – they scramble to follow the captain's every whim. Like they have from the moment he set foot in the Division, a lieutenant but fresh out of prison and unaccustomed to everyday life. He was terrifying even then.

Not to her, though. She still remembers the first time she saw him, meekly following the 12th Division's newest captain as they walked down the street. She remembers his eyes, so striking, as they gazed curiously at the people around him. It seemed strange to him. All she could focus on, though, was the paint on his face. To a young girl, as she'd been back then, it didn't appear frightening, or strange, instead it fascinated her. He was _different_, like the men from her stories. Men with destinies and fantastic powers, who did things no one else could.

Maybe that is why she doesn't fear him, like she knows she should. Somewhere deep down the little girl is still fascinated by him. Or maybe it's because she knows she's plain. She's Ise Nanao, who – no matter what her captain likes to say – is neither remarkable, nor the last of an ancient race. Nothing about her would spark the man's interest, keeping her safe from his wild ideas, but also far away from the intricacies of his mind. She's plain.

Nanao sighs, closing the book she'd been reading with a snap. No one notices as she calmly leaves the square. She's unassuming, and it's both a blessing and a curse.


	5. Savage Beauty

**Title:** Savage Beauty  
**Author:** **silawen** (Sila) / Lalaith86  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters:** Slight hints of Zaraki/Yumichika. Mention of Ikkaku.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach. Honest.  
**Summary:** _As a tall and imposing figure, one would never call Soul Society's fiercest warrior beautiful._

* * *

**Savage Beauty.**

A soft breeze plays with his hair as he gazes out over the courtyard. It's cold, but not unbearably so, and the steady beat of morning draws ever closer. He can hear faint sounds, of people moving and whispered words, as Seireitei inhales and breathes to life. Relishing in the glow of another day, Yumichika ignores the patter of feet behind him. Nothing can distract him now.

To one so enraptured by beauty, it's the clear spell of morning that remains his favourite time of day. Everything looks fresh, replenished during the night, as if painted anew. Nothing is more beautiful than the shadows giving way to the sparkling light of the sun.

Except, perhaps, the vision before him. While usually, Yumichika would be alone this early in the day, this time he is joined by stoic faces and gleaming zanpakutou. Five of the 11th Division's finest stand ready – Ikkaku among them - hands loosely holding the weapon that defines them, as their taichou gazes at the same scene Yumichika had been enjoying earlier. Even the beast can feel calmed by that first touch of morning, he supposes.

As a tall and imposing figure, one would never call Soul Society's fiercest warrior beautiful. A laughing thought, to be sure, but one Yumichika cannot help but have. He no longer questions his sanity, has learned to accept it, instead reminds himself of the exact reason why he does.

With a loud roar, the serenity of Seireitei is rudely torn apart, the clang of metal on metal resonating through empty streets. The fair shinigami watches as his friends attempt to provide their taichou with some amusement, but already they worry Zaraki's expression will turn to one of boredom. Not so with Yumichika. Every thrust, ever side-step, he takes them in greedily, watches with shiny eyes as raw power brushes aside conventional methods, as ferocity outclasses technique. Zaraki doesn't need to know his zanpakutou to win, will move grotesquely but dance at the same time. Feet move more graceful than anyone would think possible, his zanpakutou slices more cleanly than expected, and even with a feral snarl on his face, it's the fire in his taichou's eyes that reminds Yumichika why he loves watching him so.

Leaves of an old tree flutter to the ground around him, coloured a dull brown, as fine sand is kicked up by tumbling bodies. Yumichika regards them with pity, wishes for the vibrant beauty of a sakura tree instead, or white petals carried on the wind. Their time has passed, but he knows they will return again. As will he.

Turning, he leaves his compatriots behind. Pained cries don't disturb him, instead he smiles. Taichou is having fun, and that is beautiful.


	6. Fight

**Title:** Fight? (Alternate title: To Fight or not to Fight.)  
**Author:** Silawen  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** Matsumoto Rangiku/Ichimaru Gin  
**Warning:** Mentioned and implied character!death.  
**Words:** 300 words exactly. (For a 300 word challenge.)  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach, obviously. *grin*  
**Summary:** _She imagines him smiling, though she can't see._

She imagines wind whipping her hair into a frenzy, carrying with it the burning scent of death of the rubble below, but it's eerily still. Soul Society burns, steadily turning into nothing but a memory, and souls everywhere cry out in pain and frustration. She can hear their every call.

"Oh, now that ain't a pretty sight," a familiar voice drawls behind her, resonating through her with every stretched syllable. She hates it, yet can't help but feel that tug of familiarity. Years upon years have taken their toll on her.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" she asks, not even turning towards him. Haineko bristles at her foolishness, but the young woman simply can't make herself care enough to. If she dies she'll only follow all those before her. Her friends, her superiors, her captain…

She imagines him smiling, though she can't see. That twisted little quirk of the lips, something that frightened others but amused her. She'd seen it too often to fear the implications. Whenever he smiles, life becomes a lot less dull.

"I was sent to kill you."

His words don't surprise her, so she remains standing. Tears threaten to spill, but instead linger on her eyelids.

"Okay," she murmurs.

She imagines, then, how the fight would go if she were to draw her zanpakutou. She knows she would lose. Her hands don't even twitch.

His feet hit the ground steadily, drawing closer, and as a hand reaches around and brushes her face – mirrored by the barest hint of a kiss against her neck – she can feel the flutter of a breath against her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Rangiku."

A sudden pain, sharp and forceful, and she feels him cradle her as she falls.

She imagines, listening to his whispers of regret, starting over again. Her soul weeps.


End file.
